


honey, i'm still free

by thecoquimonster



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Historical Inaccuracies, M/M, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 00:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17069747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecoquimonster/pseuds/thecoquimonster
Summary: Aziraphale, Crowley, and 6000 years' worth of cheesy pickup lines.





	honey, i'm still free

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to write this dumb fic for like two months. Please take it, I can't look at it anymore. 
> 
> Title taken from "Take A Chance on Me" by ABBA because why not.

The marketplace brimmed with people. It was Aziraphale’s first time on earth since he’d been recalled to Heaven after the whole mess in the Garden. In that time, he’d been given a good reprimanding from his superiors, but he had come out of it relatively unscathed. As a matter of fact, he was Heaven’s official liaison on Earth now. Aziraphale might have put it to his familiarity with humans, but there had been three other angels stationed in Eden’s other gates.

Whatever the reason, Aziraphale wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. So there he was on earth, people bumping into him left and right as he weaved his way through the marketplace. He was trying to find something of interest, but there were people gathered around all sorts of booths.

He hadn’t expected to see so many people already. Just how long had he been gone?

“A- _Aziraphale_?” A surprised voice stood out from the rest of the clamor. The angel recognized it faintly, though it was lacking in a certain quality—a hiss.

Aziraphale turned to see the Serpent of Eden, though ‘serpent’ was not how he physically appeared. Not anymore, anyway. He was human. Well, human-shaped at least. His corporation was tall and slim in contrast to Aziraphale’s form, but they both shared the dark complexion that most people on this corner of the earth had.

“Crawly?” He blinked. Part of him was telling him to prepare for a fight, but Crawly looked utterly relaxed. He even seemed _pleased_ to have run into Aziraphale.

“I go by Crowley, these days,” the serpent replied with a smile. “What do you think of it?”

Aziraphale shifted his feet. “It suits you, I suppose. How long have you been d— _up_ here?”

“Oh, I haven’t been Down Below since just after Eden,” said Crowley with an unconcerned wave of his hand. “They were pleased with my work. Sent me back up straight away.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “Well, ah—” He was going to say _good_ but he rather felt that he shouldn’t approve of a demon causing trouble around earth.

“What about you?” Crowley asked. “I’d begun to think He wasn’t going to send any angels down here.”

“Well, er, the selections process was quite long,” Aziraphale stuttered out. “Plenty of angels were just dying to come down, you know.”

Crowley looked at him strangely. Aziraphale had no way of knowing whether Crowley believed him, but it hardly seemed to matter. The demon nodded to one of the kiosks in the marketplace and turned. “Come on, then, Aziraphale. Let me show you what you’ve missed.”

He had no choice but to follow. They spent the afternoon in the marketplace, where Crowley showed him kiosks selling pottery and other arts, clothes, and food.

Again Aziraphale experienced the angelic urge to thwart Crowley—but thwart what, exactly, when Crowley was as unthreatening as ever? He pushed it down. Having Crowley around was _helpful._ It didn’t make sense to ruin a peaceful, if tentative, acquaintanceship for something as unreasonable as Heavenly protocol.

Finally Crowley stopped and traded for some raisins. He turned to Aziraphale and offered the raisins from his hand. “Would you like to try?”

Crowley had a gleam in his eye. Although this should have set Aziraphale off—what with Crowley being a demon and all—he realized that more than anything, Crowley was acting _playful._

“Well,” Crowley said, retracting his hand. He popped a raisin in his mouth and smiled. “How about a date instead?”

Aziraphale froze. A date. They weren’t selling dates here. This was—Crowley was _flirting_ with him, it slowly dawned on him with quiet horror. Had he been flirting with Aziraphale all afternoon?

In Eden?

Had _Aziraphale_ been flirting?

“Er,” Aziraphale said for the third time that day. “I—I think—I’d better go. Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Crowley. I’ll see you some other time. Take care.”

Crowley took a step forward, but Aziraphale scrambled away and got lost in the sea of the crowd.

As loud as the marketplace was, the beating of Aziraphale’s heart was surely louder.

.

Aziraphale watched as the Israelites turned to follow Moses out of the city. Out of Egypt itself. The Egyptians stood by and let them pass, grief-stricken and defeated.

The children of Israel were quiet as they gathered their meager belongings and prepared for the long journey ahead of them. Celebrating in the midst of the tragedy that had befallen Egypt seemed cruel, but nevertheless the Israelites’ relief was palpable.

Aziraphale himself felt rather conflicted about the whole thing, but he supposed that the Egyptians had been given a taste of what they’d forced the Israelites to endure. Besides, it wasn’t his job to like it—what mattered now was that the Israelites would get to live in their promised land.

Something brushed against his elbow, and Aziraphale looked away from the procession of Israelites to the man-shaped being at his side. Crowley nodded to the Israelites and raised his eyebrows. “Aren’t you going along with them?”

“Are you?” Aziraphale asked, bristling. He didn’t like the idea of crossing the desert with the Israelites and he hadn’t been sent any orders from Heaven requiring him to. But if Crowley was going, Aziraphale would be duty-bound to follow. A demon among the vulnerable travelers unchecked was not something that he was prepared to allow—even if that demon was only Crowley.

Crowley scoffed. “And give up my position in the palace? Please, Aziraphale. Who even knows what will happen to them on the way to their so-called promised land?”

Aziraphale murmured agreement.

“So you aren’t going?” Crowley asked, the beginnings of a smile dawning over his features. “I assumed you’d be assigned to.”

“I wasn’t,” Aziraphale said. “I suppose they’re on their own for now.”

“Well, they have Moses and that fancy staff of his.”

Aziraphale looked back to the Israelites. If he squinted, he could see Moses leading them in the distance.

“Fancy,” Aziraphale echoed softly. He thought again about what had transpired. Not only last night, but for _weeks. Months._ And back to the generations of suffering that Moses’s people had gone through.

Crowley followed Aziraphale’s gaze. “Well, no. Maybe not. It doesn’t look like much, does it?”

“It’s a channel for God’s power,” Aziraphale reminded him. “It doesn’t need to look fancy.”

“I suppose not,” Crowley said. He sounded darker, angrier. But apparently, he had decided against saying what was on his mind, because he fell silent for a while. Crowley watched the Israelites with Aziraphale as the sun climbed the sky and finally cleared his throat. “Well. At least it’s over.”

“One can only hope.”

Crowley hummed his agreement and turned to him. “Would you like a drink?”

Aziraphale’s brows were thinking about furrowing. “I’m not—”

“Oh, please, Aziraphale. What else is there to do?”

Reluctantly Aziraphale assented. He took one last look at the Israelites and turned to follow Crowley.

Drinks turned into an offer from Crowley to take him on the Nile. Aziraphale was hesitant about the whole thing. He still couldn’t look at the river without seeing the water turn red, but perhaps he could take his mind off it. Aziraphale allowed Crowley to take them out on the river and forced himself not to think about blood.

“How do you like it?” Crowley asked.

“It’s nice.” Aziraphale frowned. The riverbanks were still deserted. But of course they were; the Egyptians would be grieving.

“You don’t seem to be terribly pleased,” Crowley mused, though he didn’t seem to be bothered. “Thought sharing a ride on the Nile with a friend warrant more than a distracted ‘ _nice.’”_

Aziraphale caught his choice of words. “Friend? We’re not friends, Crowley.”

“Then what do you call this?” Crowley gestured between the two of them. “Denial isn’t just the river we’re on, angel.” He smiled, and Aziraphale _recognized_ that smile. “Just admit it.”

“We’re not friends,” Aziraphale insisted. His corporation couldn’t decide whether or to feel bitterly cold or unbearably hot. “I don’t—We’re just—”

“Friendly.”

“And what’s the matter with that?” Aziraphale shot back, crossing his arms. “It’s a terrible waste of time and energy if all I did was try to kill you.”

Crowley nodded. “Of course. And you know I feel the same way. But Aziraphale, you didn’t _have_ to come out with me.”

No, he hadn’t. That was right. But there wasn’t anyone else who knew humanity the way Aziraphale did. No one other than Crowley.

And who could blame him, really, if he wanted to be around the only other being on earth who understood? It wasn’t a friendship—merely an understanding.

.

The bathhouses were lovely, Aziraphale reflected as he sank down into the warm pool of water. He closed his eyes and let the steam warm and relax him. The angel wasn’t in the habit of falling asleep, but in a place like this, he could imagine drifting off.

That is, before the other man in the pool let out a yelp. “Snake!”

Aziraphale’s eyes flew open to see the other man splash his way out of the pool. He turned his gaze back to the water. Indeed, a thin black snake had dropped into the water, its iridescent scales glinting. As Aziraphale watched, its tongue flicked out—as if in greeting.

The man seemed as though he were waiting for Aziraphale to appear just as alarmed, but Aziraphale only let out a huff of amusement. He reached out and the Serpent began curling itself around his arm. The man shook his head and muttered about how he wouldn’t be surprised to find out Aziraphale had been poisoned the next day, and left.

“Causing trouble?” Aziraphale asked Crowley, who was still climbing up his arm.

The Serpent hissed in laughter. “I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised to find you here, angel. They say cleanliness is close to godliness, after all.”

“You’re teasing me,” Aziraphale said. “What’s wrong with an angel wanting to visit the bathhouses every once in a while?”

“Not a thing. Like I said. Close to godliness.” Crowley’s eyes glimmered. “Speaking of gods—”

“You aren’t going to tell me that there’s a patron god of bathhouses, are you?” Aziraphale sighed. He couldn’t keep up with all these pantheons. Perhaps the thing had been relegated to Apollo or Hermes—Mercury. That was what the Romans were doing these days, after all. Downsizing. It seemed they were getting tired of all those gods, too.

Crowley frowned as best as a snake could. “Not that I know of. But I was going to say, I talked to Eros a while ago.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, feeling a bit fonder than he thought he should.

He was still deciding whether to state the obvious—that Eros wasn’t real—when Crowley continued cheerily, “And he said to tell you to give me my heart back.”

Aziraphale’s mirth dried up. He looked down into the water, not daring to say anything. Not daring even to acknowledge Crowley’s words. He remembered what Crowley had said to him, back in Egypt. That they were friends.

He wished it could be that simple. It wasn’t, and never could be.

“Aziraphale?”

He found his voice. “I should go.”

“But you only just—”

“Enjoy the baths,” Aziraphale said, shaking his arm gently until Crowley got the hint and slid back into the water. “I was going to the library now anyway. I’ll see you again some other time.”

.

Some thirty-odd years after the beginning of their Arrangement, Aziraphale found Crowley in a little tavern in Vienna. They hadn’t agreed to meet up here, but Aziraphale had long since realized that no matter where he ended up, Crowley was bound to appear at some point. He stood in the doorway of the dark tavern for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to enter.

A man looked up from his table towards Aziraphale angrily, and the angel scrambled inside before anyone could say anything.

Aziraphale made his way towards Crowley and sank down into a seat beside him. Crowley started, and then broke into a pleased smile when he recognized Aziraphale. He waved the barmaid over and took the liberty of ordering Aziraphale a beer.

The barmaid set a cup in front of Aziraphale and he glanced at Crowley, eyebrows furrowing. “It isn’t your turn.”

Crowley lifted his cup expectantly and smiled like a snake. “What can I say, I’m in the mood to give drink to the thirsty.”

Aziraphale reluctantly clinked together their cups and took a drink, pushing down the urge to ask if that had been a sort of innuendo. Since the Arrangement, he’d figured it was probably best to let Crowley indulge in his flirtations; it was only a game. Ultimately, if Aziraphale didn’t reciprocate, it was harmless.

Crowley licked his lips. “You know, something has been weighing on my mind today.”

“And that is?”

“Which came first?”

Aziraphale glanced at him incredulously. “The chicken or the egg? Crowley—”

“No, no,” Crowley waved the notion away. His serpentine eyes glittered. Not menacingly, but teasingly. “The Western Church or the Eastern Church?”

“Ah.” Aziraphale too had heard about the schism. He hadn’t given much thought to it before, but Crowley wore that smug grin of his that either meant that he’d been up to some trouble or that he would be taking credit for it. “That wasn’t you, was it?”

“Not the schism itself,” said Crowley. “But the argument over who came first? Why, the two Churches will be going at it for centuries.”

Aziraphale should have been cross. Instead he let himself laugh and took another drink.

.

“Are you a magician? Because when I’m around you, everyone else disappears.”

Aziraphale started and looked up from where he was preparing for the magic show for Warlock’s party. He had already set up a table and arranged his supplies, and now he was fighting to pencil on a proper twirled mustache suited for a birthday magician of his caliber.

The angel hadn’t noticed Crowley breaking away from the rest of the waiting staff to saunter over to him, and now the left side of his mustache was ruined. He sighed and put down his pencil.

“Really, my dear,” he said with a quick glance to their surroundings. No one else was around. “I’m getting ready.”

“So am I,” Crowley said. Even dressed as a waiter, he still wore his sunglasses. It was a sunny day; perhaps the guests wouldn’t be put off by that. “Here, allow me.”

Crowley produced a handkerchief and wiped away the mess of a penciled-on mustache that Aziraphale had attempted to draw on himself. He set down the handkerchief in favor of the pencil, and took Aziraphale’s chin in his other hand.

Aziraphale felt his heart stutter to a halt and then pick up again, slightly faster now. Crowley held his chin firmly, but his fingers were warm and gentle. He penciled on Aziraphale’s mustache carefully.  Without even looking at the mirror, Aziraphale knew it was perfect.

“There,” Crowley said, putting down the pencil.

Aziraphale’s throat had gone dry. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“You should be getting the tables ready for the party,” Aziraphale blurted, turning away so that he could go through his deck of cards to make sure nothing was amiss. He didn’t know why he was dismissing Crowley in this manner, except that the familiar panic was settling in again.

If they had failed with Warlock, it was over. The world would end. Why was Crowley acting like this now?

The fate of the Earth hung in balance, and Crowley was flirting with him. The world might end by next week, and Aziraphale was more worried about this.

Crowley was quiet for a moment, watching Aziraphale fuss over the card deck. He heard Crowley sigh. It sounded tired and perhaps a little saddened. “Right. Well, angel, you certainly know how to make everyone disappear. With miracles or without.”

“Wait,” Aziraphale said. “What about the hellhound?”

“I’ll be around,” Crowley replied, “keeping an eye out for that bloody hellhound. Don’t you worry about that.”

Crowley’s footsteps retreated and Aziraphale closed his eyes. This, he already knew, was going to be a long day.

.

Crowley held the door for Aziraphale as they stepped out of the Ritz. Despite their easy companionship, Aziraphale had found their lunch to be quite awkward. It was apparent that neither of them knew how to move forward after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t. The world had arranged itself back to normalcy. Aziraphale should have felt relieved.

Everything was (nearly) the same, from the ducks at St. James Park to lunch at the Ritz. Crowley had his Bentley and Aziraphale still owned his bookshop, along with a few additions.

Instead, it left him anxious. Aziraphale could tell that Crowley felt similarly. They both lingered outside of the doorway, unwilling to part again. Crowley opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it.

Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes—or at least, he would have had they not been hidden behind his usual sunglasses. Finally, he said, “Back to my shop?”

Crowley brightened.

They began the walk back to the bookshop. After a few moments, Crowley cleared his throat. “Would you mind holding something for me?”

“Not at all.” Aziraphale couldn’t for the life of him think of what Crowley could possibly want him to hold—he hadn’t been carrying anything until now. He turned to his friend expectantly, but Crowley only took his hand and twined their fingers together.

Aziraphale looked down at their hands with furrowed eyebrows, and dragged his gaze back up to Crowley.

Yesterday it had been the end of the world. It had taken a soon-to-be-averted Armageddon for Aziraphale to give Crowley something as simple as his hand. Today, they were heading back to the bookshop after a nice lunch. The circumstances could not have been more starkly different, but the warmth of Crowley’s hand in his was just the same.

Aziraphale’s vague discomfort had been about this. The world was unchanged. It was them that had shifted.

The corners of his mouth curled upward, and he squeezed Crowley’s hand. Aziraphale could practically feel Crowley’s relief as he squeezed back.

Aziraphale didn’t let go of Crowley’s hand until they’d reached the bookshop, and only because he needed to take out his key.

.

The first morning waking up in the cottage, Crowley reached out, searching for body heat that was no longer there. His eyes fluttered open and confirmed that Aziraphale had left the bed early. Crowley stayed for a moment, letting the morning wash over him: the muffled sounds of Aziraphale bustling about in the kitchen, the feeling of the air brushing against his cheek, the sunlight filtering through the curtains.

He slipped out of the bedroom and passed all of the boxes in the hallway, making for the kitchen. Even surrounded by all of these unopened boxes, reminders that the two of them still a few more steps to make the cottage truly _theirs_ , Crowley could not help but think that this was the warmest he’d ever felt. This was home. Their new home.

Aziraphale was sitting at the kitchen table, still wearing his pajamas. A steaming cup of cocoa was placed next to him, untouched in favor of the crossword puzzle he concentrated on. When Crowley entered the kitchen, Aziraphale looked up and smiled. “Good morning, my dear.”

Warmth and love spread out from that smile, and Crowley let it wrap around him like a blanket. Or an embrace.  He was surrounded by love and he sank into it gratefully.

“Am I in Heaven,” Crowley breathed, leaning on the kitchen counter. He returned Aziraphale’s soft smile. “Or are you just an angel?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He stood up and took the few steps to bring him in front of Crowley, reached up to place his hand onto Crowley’s shoulder. His hand slid up to cup his cheek and his fingers weaved through Crowley’s hair.

“You’re silly,” Aziraphale said softly, and kissed him. It was a type of kiss that had been so rare for them when they’d lived in London; the slow kind, the ones that tasted like sleep and sweet dreams replaced by even sweeter reality. Crowley put his hands on Aziraphale’s waist, pushing up his sleep-shirt to touch warm skin, and privately looked forward to sharing a kiss like this with Aziraphale every morning from now on.

“Six thousand years of my flirting,” Crowley whispered as Aziraphale pulled back, “and _that_ is the one that works.”

Aziraphale pushed him away with a laugh. “It did not work! It’s a ridiculous line.”

 “You kissed me,” Crowley pointed out, leaning back in closer. He grinned. “The results speak for themselves, Aziraphale.”

“I kissed you because there are times your terrible flirting manages to be endearing,” the angel said in that no-nonsense tone he used to correct anyone from small children to the Metatron, “and this happened to be one of those times.”

Crowley snapped his fingers. “ _Exactly_. You found it endearing. So it worked.”

“All right,” Aziraphale conceded, sounding as though he’d said it to avoid the argument more than because he genuinely agreed. He pulled Crowley back into another kiss, which neither could keep up for long because of how wide their smiles were growing.


End file.
